I think a lot. And if I could just convey the thoughts I think that are meant for this blog, I’d definitely post a lot more.
When I say I think a lot, I don’t mean I think deeply, profoundly interesting thoughts. Just that I think. I notice and observe and record (by which I don’t mean I actually make a record – photographic, written, etc) which someone else could later retrieve, just that it’s something a bit more than, “Aha! Leaves on trees!”(*) although sometimes, that is all it is. Told you, profound I am.
There’s always a conversation inside my head. Sometimes the conversation is just with me; sometimes it’s with friends; sometimes it’s with this blog. I’m not always good at remembering whether I had a conversation inside my head with my friends as I perceive them, or whether I had a conversation outside my head, involving my vocal chords, with my friends in corporeal form. These things, they’re but minor details.
What goes on inside your head? Do you have a running commentary as you go about your daily life? Is it musical? It is full of images? Is it colourful? Does it make sense? If someone were to say to you, like they often do to me but they rarely mean it: What are you thinking? do you ever actually tell them? I do. (Well, when I’m asked by someone who either (a) deserves to hear my thoughts; and/or (b) who won’t think less of me despite what I tell them, then I go right ahead and tell them. And isn’t it disappointing when you’ve rambled on about what you were thinking about and then turn the question back upon them and they say, “Oh, not much.” I want to shake the person. I ask because I do want to know, and your trivialities actually do intrigue me. Tell me! Tell me!)
And why is it that telling a thought takes longer than thinking a thought, even though, if you are like me, most of your thoughts are in words. I’ve already formed sentences while thinking, so why is that when I speak my thoughts, it takes so much longer; and why must my mind continue flying away with other thoughts, so my tongue trips over itself?
Sometimes, I think I would like to diagram my chain of thoughts. Things kind of just bounce around inside my mind, like the groovy and rather silly Japanese computer game, katamari damacy, where you roll along collecting objects becoming bigger and bigger until you’re the size of a planet. Of course, if you try to collect something too big, when you’re not big enough to have the right amount of gravity so that the item adheres to your increasing girth, then you fall apart. I think katamari damacy is an excellent depiction of the way my mind, in repose, works.
(* I’ve been thinking this a lot, lately. It’s spring, see, and the leaves are coming back. Or rather, they’re sprouting fresh leaves, pale yet somehow bright green, looking a little shocked to emerge into bright sunshine, a little nervous, like they need sunglasses. Spring in Melbourne, Australia is not as dramatic as Spring in the UK, but it is, nevertheless, wonderful. Although I feel the temperatures are not that different to a week ago, plants and birds and animals, knowing better than me, have started to become more lively. Even my worm farm worms wriggle much more violently when I disturb them to enquire after their health. <- They’re doing wonderfully, thanks for asking.)